I Hate Everything About You
by duvalia
Summary: For Captain MacTavish, his authority is everything. For someone who merely refers to himself as Roach, it's more of a formality. Collab with Sassy Satsuma.
1. Arrogance

**Co-written with Sassy Satsuma.**

_**Warning:** Slight sexual content and in Sassy's words "there will be a fair bit of swearing." _

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><p>Roach stood at ease in front of his captain's desk. His stance, while informal, was a considerable change from his usual position of lounging on the chair, his legs propped up on the desk, crossed at the ankle. "So what am I here for?" He paused for a moment adding 'Sir' at the end as an afterthought.<p>

"I talked with General Shepherd. You should be discharged for what you did."

Gary could only smile, knowing he was too valuable an asset for Shepherd's greedy ass to knowingly get rid of. "But I'm not going to be discharged, am I?" In all truthfulness it wasn't even a question at this point. "Too attached to me, right, Captain?"

"No."

Roach wasn't sure which question his superior answered, but it didn't really matter. He'd been in this same position a million times before though it wasn't always for the same thing.

"You're being transferred."

It took a moment for the words to register. "_What_?" Roach berated himself for letting the surprise enter his voice and hated the smug look on the captain's face.

"You heard me, Sanderson." He pushed the manila folder on his desk toward the sergeant. "I'm tired of dealing with your bullshit."

Once again in control of his emotions, Roach laughed softly. "So you're giving me to some other officer?" The folder was more than an inch thick, the most important document sat atop his paperwork, the official transfer papers signed off by both his captain and the general. The signature of the captain to whom he was being assigned was messy; all Roach could read clearly was a first name of 'John' and the letters 'M' and 'T'. Given the secrecy of the task force, Roach wasn't familiar with many of the other officers, _maybe_ by face or even call-sign, but never a _given_ name.

"As of 1100 hours, you will no longer be under my direct command. You're expected to report to your new captain at 1700 hours."

Roach raised an eyebrow at the wording on the transfer papers. "You're reassigning me for a 'breach of protocol'?"

"Officially, yes."

"You're more of an ass than I thought."

The captain brushed the comment off. "You're a good soldier Roach. You're just a fucking bastard too."

Hearing his captain finally say the words out loud was more amusing than it should've been. "Where am I being transferred to?" Roach asked lazily as he flipped a page in his file revealing a one way ticket to California. "You're fucking kidding me!"

That damn smirk once again on his captain's face. "Think of it as a parting gift. _Coach_. Dismissed."

"I'll miss you too,Captain," he muttered, his words not entirely sarcastic as he left the office. He supposed he deserved a crappy coach class flight, but that didn't mean he had to like it. A beep sounded from his watch and a quick glance at it confirmed it was 1100; he was officially his own man. At least until he got to California. There was travel time to take into account, but since he was being reassigned to the other side of the country that meant a different time zone. Which coast did 1700 apply to? If Virginia it meant even with the travel time he should be able to meet John 'whatever his name was' on time. If California then that meant he had a few hours to kill before he was expected. In that case, finding the next woman begging to suck his cock because he was Special Forces was well within his grasp. _But fuck it._ His new CO could wait another hour or two if he was late. Already fucking around with John even before he got to meet the man.

Roach made his way to his room and pulled his rucksack from underneath his bed. Lately, he'd been stuck with stealth missions, which meant he traveled lightly, usually carrying nothing but the clothes on his back, a rifle, sidearm, and knife. There was nothing inside the rucksack aside from an empty carton of cigarettes, a string of condom wrappers, and a dull tactical knife. _Smoke, fuck, and kill. _Story of his life.

He emptied the contents, leaving the carton and wrappers on his bed for whoever had the fortune of bunking after him. Roach carefully folded his clothes and set them inside his pack, not doing so because he cared what regulations demanded, but for his own personal desire to keep up the appearance. It didn't take much longer to pack everything else since he didn't own much aside from the bare necessities and his smaller weapons. And even then he decided not to bring along his SIG; it was too much of a hassle. His knives were another story since the rucksack was too big to bring as carry-on anyway. He had a book or two packed, but rarely did he ever have time to read them. If he wasn't out doing some shit for the damn general then he was knocked out in his bed or fucking someone into it.

All packed, Roach lounged on his bed, the manila folder opened and resting on his stomach so he could look through it. Most of the files inside were copies of his mission reports, but a colored flyer peeked out from behind the endless papers and he pulled it out. _Fucking Captain. _The flyer had a list of numbers and websites from numerous companies in the service of public transportation. Guess he was taking a taxi.

He saved the sealed envelope for last, using one gloved finger to open it. Inside it were the coordinates to his soon to be new home away from home, though he wasn't sure he still had the latter. Roach memorized the information then pulled out his lighter, watching as the flame consumed the small piece of paper. He may have been an ass, but he wasn't going to compromise the location of one of the secret 141 bases. His current location wasn't classified but the unit he was being assigned to seemed to be comprised of Shepherd's personal bitches. Or go to men. To Roach, they seemed like the same thing. On the other hand, destroying a base himself wasn't out of the question as he dropped the flaming paper on the floor and stomped it out with his boot.

The pack of menthols on the desk called his attention and Roach put the folder in his rucksack before picking up the pack and lighting up. They weren't his, but after rooming with the same guy for half a year, he decided he was entitled to a little parting gift from his roommate. His custom SIG was more than a good enough trade for an already opened pack of cigarettes.

Despite not having shown any reaction in front of his captain, his first inhale of smoke did wonders to calm the nerves he didn't know were still shaken. He let the once clear image in his head flow out with each exhale of smoke.

This transfer was either going to be a constant distraction from what he'd done or a constant reminder that there was a reason he had to be moved in the first place.

Roach pulled on his rucksack, the fact that it was still mostly empty making the endeavor easier than usual. One stop at the phones for a shuttle service and he'd be on a one way flight to a new sort of hell.

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><p>John Mactavish hadn't been particularly aware of when it happened exactly, but somewhere amongst the mess that now was his life his command had become everything. Or maybe it had always been like that and only now was it truly beginning to get to him.<p>

Either way, one thing was certain. For a life lived on a knife edge, being a captain had suddenly begun to feel ridiculously tedious.

Mactavish trudged into his quarters wearily, flicking the straps of his bergen off his back so that it fell unceremoniously to the floor with a solid _thump_. He kicked the door shut behind him with his heel, not caring to lock it as he unfastened his body armour, letting that too slide to the floor. The rest of his dust caked gear was soon to follow suit, forming a trail to the bathroom as he moved steadily through the room.

_Two weeks. _As he slipped underneath the steady shower stream, Mactavish automatically closed his eyes, a small smile creeping across his face. Shepherd in all his wisdom had seen fit to assign him and a couple of his men to a high risk operation in Afghanistan, one that had soon become as botched as the intel it so desperately depended on. In the end they'd seen more waiting than actual fighting, confined to a sand ridden base somewhere out in the middle of nowhere. The result? He'd been hot, sticky and bored shitless. Even for all of their tactical advantages, FOBs were not known for their amenities.

Determined to enjoy his shower as if it was his last, Mactavish lingered underneath the hot water for as long as possible, enjoying the cascade of water as if flowed across his neck and shoulders, distributing a pleasant heat that released the muscle it found there. It might have been far from ideal, but on the base it was about as close to relaxed as Mactavish was ever likely to get.

His skin patted dry and a fresh pair of black boxer shorts hanging low off his hips Mactavish padded out into his room, any remaining droplets of water left to dry off his skin naturally. Knowing, practiced hands found their way to his basic bedside cabinet, pulling out an old, half full bottle of whisky. The label was well worn and he automatically unscrewed the lid, tipping back his head and drinking just enough to cause a soft burn on his tongue and at the back of his throat. It was by no means enough to get him drunk but in a similar way to the cigarettes that he kept on smoking it was a habit that felt as though it preserved a little of his humanity.

Arranging himself on his bed, Mactavish leant back against the wall, swapping the whisky bottle for the cigarette packet and lighter that he kept by his bed. Relying wholly on muscle memory he slipped a delicate cigarette from the box and into his mouth, leaning down and lighting it with a quick flick of his thumb. One long in breath later and his head was happily swimming in a cloud of nicotine.

_Downtime._ The one thing that he craved above everything else on operations and yet didn't know what to do with when he actually did _have_ it. It was more like a concept than anything else, an ideal that he was constantly striving for but could never quite reach. Well, aside from occasional attempt at it with either a smoke, drink or half arsed wank.

He was almost on auto pilot as his hand drifted down his chest and beneath his boxers, lying almost languidly on his crotch. He took hold of himself roughly, pumping his hand slowly, although to be fair his hand was nothing new to him and the action sent little more than a couple of shudders up his spine. This time he tried again, the movements of his hand quickened. But in reality, it was little use as even though his cock began to harden in his hand the feeling he got from it was barely worth recognising. He'd been two weeks without any kind of release and a lot longer than that without anything that wasn't himself and even then his body still felt more exhausted than aroused.

"Mactavish?" There was a knock at his door, a familiar cockney accent causing Soap's hand to jump back up his body. He sat forwards on the edge of his bed, taking a deep, extended drag from his cigarette as the door opened, Ghost stepping into the room with the same purpose that he did everything. "Sorry, mate, but Shepherd's playing hell out 'ere."

"I should have known." Mactavish groaned, reluctantly stubbing out what little remained of his cigarette. He nodded to the door as a sign for the lieutenant to close it. "Did he say what he wanted?"

"To see you."

"I've been back, what? Half an hour?" Standing reluctantly he moved over to where a pile of clothes lay draped across a nearby chair and picked up the nearest pair of black combat trousers.

"It's Shepherd… patience doesn't register."

"Even so, is it really so important that it can't bloody _wait_?" Soap rolled his eyes, looping his belt through the trousers and pulling it tight around his waist.

"It's this transfer, isn't it? The kid lands in about an hour."

"An hour? _Shit._" Mactavish was hit by a vague recollection of a message he'd received out in Afghanistan, the impending transfer feeling a world away back then. Sighing, he pulled his t shirt over his head. "Do you get the feeling that we've been reduced to the military equivalent of a scrap heap with this?"

"Too fucking right. It's bad enough with the regular FNGs."

"What do you know so far?"

"About as much as you do." Riley shrugged blankly. "Some kid being transferred up from one of the other units. Sounds more like a fucking promotion if you ask me." The lieutenant shook his head. "Long as he knows his place and doesn't come in here all high and mighty, I don't give a shit."

"You and me both, mate." Soap rolled his eyes wearily. "But to be fair to Shepherd, he hasn't been wrong about anyone yet."

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><p>Roach stepped off the helicopter, the only other people with him the pilot and co-pilot who had picked him up at the airport. At least these people had the decency to provide him with a means of travel. Of course the other option was him getting a cabby to drive him and thus revealing the base's location. Despite his gratitude, the courtesy was unwelcomed since he wanted to have a little fun before meeting up with his new captain.<p>

After taking in his surroundings, Roach entered one of the bigger buildings, from the looks of it, the mess hall. Some of the people looked up from their meals as he walked in, surprise evident on their faces. Apparently no one had told them of his arrival. _Great_, he was once again the FNG despite having served with the One-Four-One for three years now.

"And you are?"

Roach turned to the speaker disappointed when he didn't get to match a face to the voice. All he got was a skull mask and colored sunglasses. His previous unit had primarily consisted of Canadians and other Americans. The Brit standing in front of him was a nice change of pace. "I'm looking for John."

The man huffed. "First name basis with the captain, eh?"

"Would you like to be on a first name basis?" Roach asked instead. The man's voice intrigued him and he'd love nothing more than to pull that balaclava off.

"Ghost."

He was thrown off by the simple word. "Huh?"

"You call me Ghost. Or sir. That's it." The man sounded tired… or irritated. It was difficult to read a man's face when all you had were eyes to look at especially when they were hidden behind colored lenses. "MacTavish is talking with the general right now. Probably about you."

_MacTavish_. Now that he had the name, the messy signature in his head formed into an actual word. Was it Irish? Scottish? The thought immediately made him think of alcohol. Maybe they had something decent to drink around here. If he ever got his hands on alcohol before it was always shitty ass American beer. He was in desperate need of something at least eighty-proof. "Shall I keep you company in the meantime?"

"You can stay here. I have drills to run."

That particular suggestion didn't sound very exciting, but Roach was given no other choice as Ghost left, leaving no room for argument. Roach could've followed, but he didn't find tailing an officer looking like a pack mule a very appealing use of his time. Instead he tossed his things onto a tabletop, leaned back against his rucksack and propped his boots up on the table, challenging anyone to order him to do otherwise.

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><p><em>"With respect sir, my team doesn't need this."<em>

"_This?" _

"_We're spread thin as it is. A transfer will only- "_

_"Perhaps I didn't make myself clear." Shepherd gave him an angered, serious look. "The deal's done, Mactavish. Sanderson causes trouble? Then you damn well bring him to heel. I'm not in the habit of throwing away men that show true potential."_

If Soap hadn't been in a foul mood before he met with Shepherd, he certainly was afterwards.

He should have known that arguing was a bad strategy. The general was notoriously stubborn, a quality that in a commanding officer was both a blessing and a curse in equal measure. Either way, petitioning against his new FNG had done little to further Mactavish's cause. Now, alongside a likely problematic soldier who had been palmed off to him by another unit, Soap was expected to somehow reform the man as well. As he strode dutifully, albeit slowly towards the mess hall, Mactavish silently cursed his luck. Command was hard enough without the added stress of somehow disciplining a man who seemed to have little appreciation for rank or authority. On top of everything else, to say that he was irritated by this fact was one hell of an understatement.

When Soap actually cleared the corner and stepped into the mess hall that irritation instantly increased tenfold.

He slowed his pace, stopping in his tracks. The FNG had his back to him, his feet propped up on one of the tabletops in a display of arrogance that Mactavish despised. The captain wavered, clenching his teeth and attempting to bite back the anger that was suddenly bubbling so prominently at the back of his throat. As a captain Soap was well versed at maintaining his professionalism, but that by no means was to say that even he didn't have his limits. He had buttons that could be pushed just like any other man and right now, for whatever reason, Gary Sanderson was somehow managing to hit them all.

Keeping his fists clenched as he stepped forwards, Soap stood behind the other man purposefully. He allowed him a brief moment to notice his presence naturally and turn around, but the FNG appeared to remain completely oblivious to his surroundings. Mactavish rolled his eyes. The men of the 141 were trained to have eyes in the back of their heads, making the likelihood of Sanderson being ignorant to his presence behind him more of a blatant display of disrespect than anything else. In a deliberately loud gesture, Mactavish cleared his throat, raising a scarred eyebrow in silent satisfaction as the FNG finally swung round in his seat to face him. Soap eyed him carefully, blatantly sizing him up before speaking out, his voice low and surprisingly controlled.

"Sgt. Sanderson?" It was a redundant question but at least it had his attention. "Captain Mactavish, your new CO." He waited for a flicker of recognition in the FNG's features and yet found none, something which served to rile him even further. "The next time you use that table as a foot rest you lick it clean. Understood?"

_Sergeant Sanderson?_ Roach wasn't sure when he'd last been addressed so formally and the man in front of him was anything but what he'd expected the head of Shepherd's prized team to look like. First off, MacTavish didn't look anywhere _near_ the age of his old captain, so in Gary's head either someone had died and he'd been promoted or the captain had been using other methods to get into a position of power. And with the slight flush present on the pale skin, Roach wouldn't have been surprised if it was the later.

Roach smirked as he looked his new CO over, wondering how best to rile up the man further. "Would you like me to lick your boots clean while I'm at it?" He didn't need to glance around the room to feel the sudden tension in the air, though the apparent hostility was more amusing than threatening and Roach felt his smirk widen. "But it seems like the men on your team are just as eager to put their tongues to your boots."

"Is that so?" Mactavish rolled his eyes, his arms folding across his chest in an attempt to stop his hands from instantly gravitating to the FNG's neck. "Then maybe you should follow their example and kick things off by calling me sir." He watched as Sanderson's features twitched again, although the smirk remained as the sergeant seemed to acknowledge the challenge that he had laid down for him. "Or is basic authority a little too much for you to handle?"

Roach felt his smirk falter slightly, the captain's words hitting a little too close to home. "Sorry, _sir_." The response came off as anything but sincere as he stood to face MacTavish on the pretense of respectfully acknowledging a superior; in reality he hated the literal accompaniment of the captain looking down on him. "It comes with being the FNG. I wasn't aware that you had to keep your men on such short leashes."

"And I wasn't aware that my team was Shepherd's new dumping ground for the 141, so it looks like we're both learning something new." He was losing it and fast, Soap taking a measured step forward so that he could square up to Sanderson fully. "But it's your choice. You can either start biting your tongue now or I can make you."

"People are rather fond of what I can do with my tongue." Keeping his stance casual, Roach made a show of looking MacTavish up and down before slowly running his tongue over his top lip. "So you're just going to have to make me."

Mactavish wasn't sure what upset him more. The fact that the sergeant actually had the balls to say what he had or that deep down something within him had enjoyed it. In the end he decided to combine both of his frustrations into one deeply satisfying if unprofessional gesture, his right hand shooting out and grabbing hold of the front of Sanderson's shirt. He curled his lip as he spoke, lowering the tone of his voice. "You have a smart mouth, I'll give you that. But we'll see how smart you feel when you've done twice the training the rest of my men have." He snarled, letting go of his shirt with disgust. "You should report to Riley for your drills."

Having expected to be decked for what he'd said, Roach took the captain's actions in his stride. "And _you_ should ask Shepherd why he didn't just can me after what I _really_ did." He pulled on his rucksack from on top of the table as if the two of them were having some casual conversation. "I'm _good _at what I do," he trailed off, practiced hands quickly finding a cigarette and placing it between his lips. He was sure the gesture was unwelcome as he lit up. "And who knows? Maybe your second in command will be perfect for blowing off some steam."

"You're a little fish in a big pond, if you're going to try and justify yourself Sanderson, I suggest you try harder than that." Mactavish rolled his eyes, his fists clenching at his sides. He took a step backwards, careful to make sure that the action couldn't be interpreted as a loss of ground when he nodded towards the mess hall doors. "In these barracks, we smoke _outside_. While you're out there you can go see Riley about blowing off all that steam. With any luck he'll beat you senseless before I even have to."

Roach let his rucksack fall to the floor and took one step forward as the captain took a step back, suddenly no longer amused with the situation. "You can say what you want, but I was transferred to _your _team for a reason." He ignored MacTavish's gesture to the exit, breathing in almost angrily, the lungful of smoke not nearly enough to calm his nerves. "Unless you and your team really are Shepherd's bitches. Doing whatever the fuck you're ordered to do."

"Hit a nerve there, Sanderson?" Now it was Mactavish's term to smirk, as he pushed the FNG's chest further away from him. "Last time I checked, doing whatever the fuck we're ordered to was lesson one in the military." He rolled his eyes. "But I'm not going to sit back and take Shepherd's every word for gospel. You say you were sent here for a reason? Then you can fucking prove it to me. Just like _everyone_ else."

It was that fucking smirk that set him off, the same one he'd seen on his old captain when he'd been notified of the transfer. Ignoring the consequences and the fact that there were still others in the mess hall who'd come to rescue their fucking captain, Roach threw a punch, catching MacTavish off guard.

Soap genuinely hadn't seen the punch coming, a hard right hook that caught him in the jaw, his teeth sent chattering within the confines of his mouth. He staggered, his legs unbalanced by the sudden action, a hand instantly coming up and cradling his jaw. His eyes locked with the defiant FNG and he swallowed, a bitter metallic tang flooding his tongue as he sucked the blood from his lip into his mouth. From then on he was lost, Mactavish stalking forwards and slamming both of his palms into Sanderson's torso, shoving him backwards as hard as physically possible.

The cigarette fell from between Roach's lips as he stumbled backward, the fact that MacTavish wasn't fighting back only pissing him off further. "You want me to fucking prove it?" He tackled the captain, throwing his full weight forward so they both fell to the floor, Roach using what leverage he had to pin MacTavish's arms to his sides. The others in the room were fully captivated by now, but lingered back either out of respect for a one on one fistfight or the belief that the _lowly_ FNG was going to get his ass kicked by their captain. However, with the lack of response he received from the man trapped beneath him, Roach did the first thing that came to mind that would fuck with the captain's head. Blood had welled up again at the cut lip, so Roach leaned over, licking it clean.

He might have had one of the best poker faces in the task force, but as he felt a tongue lap against his skin, Mactavish was unable to stop his face morphing into one filled with both shock and anger.

The time for professionalism was long since over and Mactavish used whatever leverage his legs still had to kick up his knees, powering one of them into Sanderson's groin. The FNG instantly faltered and Mactavish aimed a hard left hook at his jaw as soon as his arms were freed. Sanderson's head snapped back from the action and his body rolled sideways, allowing Mactavish the time to stand, aiming a firm kick towards the FNG's ribs as he did so. Breathless, the captain straightened up, his voice an angered hiss when he finally spoke. "You better learn some fucking respect... and _fast_." His hand subconsciously moved up to swipe at his cut lip. "Otherwise even Shepherd isn't going to give a shit about you. I can _guarantee_ that."

The only thing that mattered was curling up into a fetal position, the agony of being kneed squarely in the groin overriding everything else once it moved into an explosive stabbing in his stomach. "Fucking cheap shot," he managed, finally getting onto one knee, his body still in pain. Despite the loss of pride, Roach smiled, knowing he'd forced the other to resort to violence, when the man had so obviously wanted to stay his hand.

Gradually getting to his feet, Roach spit the blood in his mouth at the boots of one of MacTavish's men, who turned his face up in a sneer. The dull pain that coursed through his body was welcomed as Roach suddenly realized that he craved something familiar in his new surroundings. Holding his tongue, he conceded, "Fine, I'll do your stupid little drills… _sir_." He also might've left out that he was hoping for a confrontation with the so-called 'Riley'.

"You'll do far more than that. But at least it's a fucking start." Mactavish spat, ignoring the smirk that still seemed to be plastered across Sanderson's features. He looked past him to one of the other men who was busy looking on, his arms folded purposefully across his chest. "Ozone, show Sanderson to where he'll be sleeping. After that get him outside and talking to Ghost, understood?"

"Yes sir."

Still hating MacTavish for his low blow, Roach picked his rucksack off the floor and followed his new 'caretaker' out the mess hall doors. It didn't matter that he "lost" the fight since the men watching would automatically have sided with their captain. If later they decided they wanted to pick on their newest FNG, Roach was going to fuck them up.

The barracks looked empty, most of the men had probably reported for drill or whatever else they did here. Roach massaged his jaw, feeling his lip swell slightly, and he knew that if he lifted his shirt he'd see the beginnings of a bruise. He smiled at the thought of messing with his escort.

"Your room," Ozone deadpanned, nodding to the empty room to his left.

"You always get stuck with FNG?" Tossing his things onto the unoccupied bed, Roach pulled his shirt over his head and dropped it onto the floor. He frowned when the man said nothing and left. "Fucking boring."

"I'm still here, idiot."

Roach pulled on a clean shirt and stepped back into the hallway where Ozone was leaning against the wall. "Uncomfortable around me?" He leaned in close, satisfied when the man didn't back down from the challenge. "Or are you jealous of John?"

"If you're done, I'm taking you to the lieutenant."

"Like I said, _fucking boring._" It was always easier to mess with someone in a position of power but touching his jaw again, Roach was more than willing to continue fucking with MacTavish.


	2. Dominance

**Note from the authors:** Thanks for all the reviews! We promise it won't take nine months to post the next chapter. :P

_**Warning:** Slight sexual content and in Sassy's words "there will be a fair bit of swearing." _

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><p>Kicking up dirt as he walked, Roach remained content in filling his lungs with smoke since Ozone refused to react to anything he said, merely leading the way to the lieutenant. He was sure he could get a rise out of his escort if really wanted to, but it wasn't quite as fun playing that game with someone he was on equal grounds with. However, a smirk soon made its way onto his face when he heard a vaguely familiar accent yelling in the distance.<p>

The pool scene Roach came upon was reminiscent of his own training before the 141, minus the degrading yet motivating soundtrack of a drill instructor. Ghost stood by the edge of the pool, a fire hose in his hands apparently waiting for someone to break the surface before he sent him back down with a sudden stream of high pressured water. The difference between _then_ and _now_ was that while the lieutenant was yelling, his words held no cruelty, the tone flat and giving out simple instructions.

At this level of expertise, there was no need for a superior to constantly shout out orders or push his men to their limits and beyond. If this new unit functioned anything like Roach's old one, every man could efficiently lead a team and carry out a mission, needing no more than three others to successfully accomplish it. _But_ he was still curious as to _why_ MacTavish's unit stood out beyond the rest of Shepherd's men.

Taking a long drag on his cigarette, Roach stood several feet away as Ozone exchanged some words with the lieutenant. Ozone was no doubt informing the other of what had transpired in the mess hall, but Roach didn't bother to listen since he had no desire to apologize for or defend what he had done. With any luck the little anecdote might entice the lieutenant to settle a situation physically.

Once Ozone turned to leave, Roach walked over to Ghost, not waiting to be called over like a fucking lapdog. The cigarette remained in its place between his lips, but Roach had the mind to blow the smoke away from the lieutenant. It was obviously the decent thing to do, though he had other reasons in that he wasn't quite ready to be rid of the guilty pleasure and pissing off the man in front of him would surely do just that.

"Barely here an hour and you've already managed to get half the team to hate you."

Using another inhale to study the officer, Roach grew increasingly annoyed with the mask, its addition making it more difficult to read the other. If all else failed, Roach got the impression that pulling it off would result in an immediate violent reaction. "And which half would _you_ be a part of?"

"I don't like you."

Roach couldn't have gotten a more blunt response and yet it didn't amuse him as much as he thought it would. It was of no concern to him whether his new unit liked him or not, but somehow the game he'd played with MacTavish had been more thrilling than this.

Ghost made a hand motion to the men, which Roach understood as they were done for the day, before the lieutenant shifted his attention back. "A transfer sounded better at first since I wouldn't have to fucking coddle you like a regular FNG, but now I have to deal with a different kind of headache."

"Sorry to have screwed you over… _Riley_." The smirk reemerged on Roach's face as the lieutenant furrowed his brow for a moment, clearly caught off guard by being addressed by his given name.

"I have my own reasons for not liking you, but I _do not_ readily discard MacTavish's judgment." The rest of the men had already gone, but Ghost took the hose in his hands once again. "Let's see if Shepherd was right about you."

"You won't have to worry about that." Mirroring his actions from earlier, Roach licked over his top lip and tilted his head down as if he were staring at the lieutenant's crotch. "I can hold my breath for quite awhile."

"Then show me," Ghost sneered, then stepped forward and shoved hard.

If the lieutenant hadn't said anything Roach wouldn't have had time to react, but at the last moment before he fell backwards into the pool his hand shot out and he grabbed the front of Ghost's jacket pulling the lieutenant into the water with him.

The sudden cold was a shock to his system, but swimming to the surface, the first thought that came to mind as he breathed in was that his pack of cigarettes had been in his pocket. The next was that anything vaguely sexual seemed to rile up his superiors the most, whether it was because it was a blatant show of disrespect or they were just that wound up. Strike one and two of his life's meaning.

Roach barely got in another breath when he was suddenly pulled underwater, a body maneuvering on top of his and placing a knife at his neck. He felt the blade's softened edge before he saw it, barely now opening his eyes in the chlorine filled water. That fucking skull print grinned back at him, but the lieutenant's sunglasses were lost, probably at the bottom of the pool.

An attempt to knee Ghost in the back was ignored, the water they were submerged in taking the force out of the blow. Instead of gaining the upper hand, Roach felt the knife press harder against his skin and he winced as the blade cut into him. When a steady flow of red appeared between them, Ghost released his hold and shoved him away before swimming to the top. Roach hit his head against the tiles that lined the sides of the pool but soon gained his bearings, following the lieutenant to the surface.

Holding onto the edge of the pool to catch his breath, Roach finally looked up when a shadow appeared around him. It was surprising to see the opening of the mask pulled down to reveal a scar free and rather decent looking face glaring down at him. If there was a reason the lieutenant was wearing that mask, it wasn't to hide disfigurements.

Roach hauled himself out of the pool and took off his gloves, pressing a hand to his neck checking the severity of wound. The cut was shallow, non-life-threatening, but that didn't stop it from stinging like a bitch. Fucker knew what he was doing.

"A shame you cut yourself on some loosened tiles on your way in." The knife was already out of sight, adding to the lieutenant's bullshit story. Ghost eventually pulled the mask off altogether and ran a hand through his rust colored hair, shaking the droplets from it. He squeezed the water from his balaclava as best his could before stuffing it in a pocket.

"And a shame you had to come in after me." Roach removed his shirt and copied the other, wringing the water from it before letting it hang out of his back pocket.

"Can't have our FNG getting himself killed already." Ghost shrugged out of his jacket, but kept his shirt on, the dark fabric clinging to his body yet not exposing it like Roach's own white one had done. "You should see a medic, eh?"

"It'll take more than a _tile_ to kill me."

"Don't tempt me. I may just put that to the test." The lieutenant remained silent as if deciding how to rid himself of an unwanted pest. "You can find Doc in the building next to the mess hall."

"_Yes sir_." Roach mocked, even adding the unnecessary salute, which the lieutenant chose to ignore. Leaving the pool area, Roach headed in the direction of the barracks instead of swinging by the medical wing for a checkup. There'd been no _order _to see the medic and therefore it was up to him what to do with the rest of the day.

The adrenaline rush he'd felt from his one-sided fight had subsided, but he was still itching to burn off the last of his energy, still not having felt the pain his body craved. Even with his last operation, the time change, a civilian means of travel, and an encounter with two officers, his heart was still pacing and he knew he wouldn't find sleep in his room.

The taste of blood in his mouth from his reopened split lip brought the trademark smirk back to his face and Roach discarded thoughts of fucked up orders and let his mind linger on his new captain.

* * *

><p>As another trickle of swear meandered down past his lips, Soap began to really wish that he'd washed his mouth before retreating into the gym.<p>

He could taste salt, mixed with the bitter metallic tang of blood from his split lip. The sensation on his tongue acted like a catalyst, causing Soap to force his already aching muscles into even more action, his arms shaking as he pulled down the weight bar for another repetition. His teeth gritted and his veins threatening to pop out from underneath his skin at any second, MacTavish allowed himself a small grunt of discomfort before he finally relented, slowly releasing the bar, as well as the tension that had built up across his broad back.

Gary fucking Sanderson. He'd known the FNG a grand total of an hour and already Soap despised him. Even the name itself felt as though it was a slap to face when it grazed across his thoughts.

He'd spent that last hour in the gym, putting his own muscles through the frenzied strain and controlled agony that he quietly wished that he could inflict upon his new FNG. After all, the man's blatant arrogance and reluctance to admit to his authority had made Soap's blood boil beyond all comprehension, physical training looking to be the only way that he could realistically vent that anger.

Of course, there was another reason as to why that anger had welled up so easily within the Captain's body, a reason that MacTavish himself was keen to ignore. The smart comments, the bruising physicality, yes, they had all played a large role in creating the livid feeling that now manifested itself in his gut, but they were by no means the only cause. After all, Soap had been relatively calm until the FNG had leant down and licked the blood clean from his lips.

In reality MacTavish didn't know what was worse. The fact that Sanderson had felt confident enough to fuck with him like that in the first place, or the fact that deep down a part of him, no matter how dark and cleverly hidden, had gotten off on it. He didn't know if it was because he hadn't gotten laid in what felt like forever, but there was no denying that the adrenaline and violence of their skirmish had had every inch of Soap's body craving sex.

The image of him slamming his hips hard against Sanderson's was fleeting, yet undeniably there, sending shivers down MacTavish's spine. He fought to push it away, lifting his arms and pulling down on the bar of the weights machine in an attempt to both distract and punish himself.

There was a loud bang, the heavy steel door of the gym closing behind him. MacTavish hissed, ignoring the sound as he attempted to finish his set of repetitions. Behind him he could sense that someone was watching him, their silence an indicator that they were waiting for him to finish. Immediately, Soap knew that it wasn't Sanderson, he guessed that the FNG would have already announced his presence whether MacTavish was concentrating or not.

"I figured that you'd be in 'ere." Riley grunted bluntly, nodding to MacTavish when he finally turned around to face him. Oddly he was without his mask, his hair wet and tousled as though he'd been in the shower, his skin glistening slightly against the dark matte of his black t shirt.

"I wonder what made you think that."

"Whole base is talking about your run in with that little shit of an FNG." Ghost shrugged, reaching for a pair of training gloves. "You're like me... You need to vent."

"I've done enough venting. Or did the others forget to mention the scuffle I got myself into?"

"Oh they mentioned it." Riley smirked. "But to me it sounds as if the FNG got off damned lucky with you." He pulled on the gloves, flexing his hands within them experimentally. "Didn't get the same treatment from me I'm afraid."

"What the hell have I missed?"

"Me knocking that little cunt down a peg or two." Ghost laughed. "Don't worry, he'll still be around for you to kick his arse at training tomorrow morning."

"To be honest, I think that's the problem." MacTavish sighed. "He seems to feed off it. The more aggressive you are, the more confident he gets."

"He's just like every other FNG. All we have to do is find his weak spot and exploit it. Textbook stuff."

"This is why I leave the training to you, mate." Soap laughed, standing up from the weights machine. "You're enough of a sadistic bastard to make anyone wish that they'd never been born."

"I wear them down so you don't have to, right?"

"Right." MacTavish nodded. "Although I think there's more to Sanderson than meets the eye."

"How do you mean?"

"He's got a lot of front... bravado, seems a little too arrogant. What really seemed to get to him was when I pressed him about his confidence." Soap ran a thoughtful hand across his head. "Maybe that's something we need to look into."

"And what exactly do we know about why he was transferred?"

"Sod all." The Captain sighed. "His file says 'breach of protocol'. That's all I was given."

"And that's of fuck all use."

"It is, but at least if he's being problematic it gives me grounds to take it up with Shepherd. Or get it out of Sanderson himself. Whichever comes first. Maybe when we finally know why he has that huge chip on his shoulder we might be able to get to the bottom of him."

"Or we just kick up enough fuss to get him transferred out of here. Shepherd can't risk the entire squad just because some kid doesn't want to play ball."

"Believe me when I say that Shepherd won't go for that." Soap shook his head, lifting his water bottle to his lips and sucking down a good measure of liquid. "He told me straight that he didn't give a shit how much trouble Sanderson caused here, only that I should bring him to heel just like everyone else."

"So we're stuck with him?"

"In a word? Yes." MacTavish rolled his eyes. "And don't worry. I'm feeling as royally fucked over about it all as you are right now."

The sound of people talking stilled Roach's actions and he paused outside the gym, leaving the steel door cracked open slightly to listen. But when he recognized the voices as the two officers who were royally pissed off at him, the smirk made its way back onto his face. Walking in and silently closing the door, he leaned back against the wall watching the two men.

Both had their backs to the door, too engrossed in their conversation to notice him or merely passing him off as the usual gym goer. Ghost was still soaked and his messed up hair along with the wet shirt clinging to his broad back was an image Roach appreciated very much. MacTavish, on the other hand, left little to the imagination, his shirt discarded, muscles slightly flexed as he drank from his bottle, a sheen of sweat covering his body.

Roach had initially wandered the base looking for a way to burn off the rest of his energy, but the two men in front of him offered something so much better. "Can't stop talking about me?"

A frustrated hiss leaving his lips instantly, Soap was thankful that his back was turned, his eyes closing tightly as he fought to hold back his annoyance. Opening them reluctantly, he made eye contact with Riley, the lieutenant raising a half amused, half expectant eyebrow, his arms folded across his chest. Whatever was going to happen next, his XO had made it blatantly clear that he was waiting patiently to follow MacTavish's lead.

"Shouldn't you be off licking your wounds somewhere?" Soap's voice was nonchalant as he spoke over his shoulder, not bothering to turn around and give the FNG any eye contact. When he did turn around, he made sure that a self-satisfied smirk was firmly fixed across his features. "By the sounds of it today's not been your lucky day."

For once, Roach welcomed the smirk and as his gaze traveled lower, the sweat slicked chest and abdominal muscles that greeted him once MacTavish turned around. "I could be saying the same to you." At the same time Roach ran his thumb over the cut on his lip, almost an exact mirror to the one his CO sported. "Or would you rather it was _me_ licking your wounds?"

Ghost let out a rough snort, one that MacTavish was keen to ignore. He opened his mouth to reply, but the lieutenant beat him to it. "That's how you operate, eh? What did you do? Sleep your way up to sergeant?" Riley's voice was nothing short of an antagonistic scoff.

Roach kept his eyes trained on MacTavish, studying the face for a crack in resolve, despite addressing the other. "If I did try to sleep my way up, I'm sure I could do better than sergeant. Maybe _do_ a captain," he added, not caring for subtly. Finally turning his attention again to the lieutenant, whose hair was still dripping water onto the floor, Roach smirked. He was willing to bet his ass that Riley hadn't revealed he'd dropped his guard. "Had an accident at the pool, sir?"

An amused smirk stretched across Riley's features and he allowed himself a small laugh. He maintained eye contact deliberately before turning to MacTavish, his mouth still set in a large grin. "Little twat doesn't seem to realise that you and me actually _talk_..." He directed his gaze back to Roach. "Maybe you should tell the good Captain how you cut your neck too while you're at it, eh, _mate?_"

"And which story should I tell him? The one of your shitty ass pool falling apart?" Roach turned his chin up and to the side, exposing the shallow cut across his neck. "But I guess there are no secrets between _mates_, eh?" His focus now on the captain, Roach traced the wound with his fingers, deliberately slow, waiting for eyes to linger. "Riley just… got a little rough, but nothing I can't handle."

"Riley is your superior, so to be frank I don't give a flying fuck whether you can handle him or not." MacTavish laughed, advancing a little on Roach as if to prove his point. The smile remained across his features when he realised that he could use the situation to his advantage further. "But I forget, you don't recognise authority, do you Sanderson? You're a poor excuse for a soldier when you think about it."

At the captain's words, the switch from playful to pissed off was flipped in an instance, and a laugh left Roach's lips, the sound anything but pleasant. "You can fucking kiss my ass. Authority means nothing when you can't fucking lead your men right."

"And is that what you do, Sanderson?" MacTavish's lips parted in another smile as he took another step forward, enjoying how he'd managed to turn the conversation on its head. "Blame others so that it's never really your fault?"

"Fuck you." Roach didn't easily lose his composure, but MacTavish had a knack for getting under his skin, reminding him of the reason for his needed transfer. "I took responsibility for what I did, but that order was fucking bullshit."

"You're a soldier, if you can't handle bad orders then you're in the wrong job, mate." MacTavish smirked, still enjoying his current power over the younger sergeant.

"Or better yet, take your fucking whining somewhere else." Ghost seemed to share his amusement, moving to stand beside MacTavish. Unlike the Captain, he was far more aggressive, advancing on Gary until he was stood straight in front of him. "No one's asking you to stick around."

_Breach of protocol. _

The words screamed at him and Roach laughed as he remembered they didn't even know what he'd done. The need to defend his actions disappeared and his anger waned, allowing the trademark smirk to make its way back onto his face. Roach closed the distance between himself and the lieutenant so his bare chest pressed up against the other's clothed one. Craning his neck so his lips ghosted along Riley's ear, he spoke softly, his words for the lieutenant alone. "If Shepherd ordered you to kill MacTavish, would you do it?"

The lieutenant might have been caught off guard as the hushed words practically slid into his ear, but that didn't mean that he had to show it. In a single fluid motion he raised his hands, pushing at the FNG's chest forcefully.

"MacTavish?" When he spoke there was still an air of amusement to his voice, although it was clearly forced. "No, mate. I wouldn't. But if Shepherd gave me the order to off you? I wouldn't fucking think twice."

Roach allowed himself be shoved back, satisfied with the nearly imperceptible crack in the lieutenant's bravado. "Defying military rule number one, eh, Butter Bar? Sounds like a double standard to me." The tone of the conversation had shifted and Roach couldn't stop his amusement at being able to throw his superiors' words back at them. "Thought that bad orders came with the job. Or does your rank let you choose which orders you want to follow?"

"You fucking cunt..." The lieutenant wasn't used to being outwitted, so his body and mouth both reacted on instinct. Instantly he launched forward after Gary, his right hand gripping the FNG's bare shoulder tightly. His thumb pressing firmly into Gary's collarbone, Riley pulled him closer, his left hand pulled back ready to strike.

"That's enough... both of you!" MacTavish strode forward quickly, forcing himself between the two of them. He ignored Riley's angered snarl, glaring at them both in turn. "This is the 141. We're elite, and I'll be damned if I'm going to let anyone fuck that up."

"Will you still be damned if you let someone fuck _you_?" His words were hushed; this time reserved for MacTavish alone, but with that hard sweaty body pressed against his own, Roach couldn't keep the huskiness out of his voice. From how each of their bodies were positioned it would be impossible for Ghost to read his lips, so Roach continued, "Or do you want to fuck _me_? Because I know you don't mind hitting below the belt." He was still pissed at the captain for betraying what he considered part of the universal guy code, but the alternative route was far more fun.

Even MacTavish didn't expect the soft laugh that tumbled out from his lips, his mouth curling upwards into a smirk. A shudder had instantly forced its way down his spine, but Soap was careful not to let it register on his face as he leant in that little bit closer. "Push me any harder and I won't hesitate in fucking you, alright?" It took but a split second and an amused scoff from Sanderson for Soap to realise the true gravity of what he had said, words now hastily spilling from his lips as he attempted to validate himself. "You wouldn't be the first FNG whose life I've had to make hell just because they won't fall in line."

"Then I'll be sure to watch myself from now on, Captain." Roach spared a glance at Ghost, the cocky smirk on his face only growing. "Because I'd hate for you to cave in front of your lieutenant."


End file.
